MBI Technical Tour

The work that Shang-Ling Ku and I have been developing together actually began with two very ordinary, everyday practices: she spends a great deal of time working with clay, while I spend much of my time with instruments and musical scores.

Over time, we realized that although these two practices may seem completely different, they are actually confronting the same question:

Once something has happened, can we ever truly return to the state before it happened?

When Shang-Ling works with clay, she pays close attention to the changes that happen to the material throughout the process. When a hand touches or presses it, the clay changes shape. It shrinks as it dries, and cracks may appear in the kiln. These things might normally be seen as imperfections, or even failures. But for her, they tell us something about what the material has been through.

And once the clay has been fired, many of those changes cannot be undone.

So rather than trying to restore the material to a state in which “nothing ever happened,” she faces a different question:

Something has already happened—what comes next?

I encounter something very similar in my work with early music.

When we look at modern music notation today, it is easy to assume that music has always looked this way. But when I work with earlier music, I often encounter music that originally had no bar lines in the modern sense, and sometimes used systems of notation quite different from those we know today.

Later editors reorganized this music, adding bar lines and grouping it differently. One reason, of course, was to make the music easier for modern musicians to read. But these editorial decisions can also reshape our sense of accent, grouping, and rhythmic flow.

This is something I find particularly interesting.

A line may seem to be just a line. But once it is drawn, the way we read, perform, and understand the music may also begin to change.

This led me to think that musical notation is not simply a tool for preserving music.

It also carries traces left by history.

The same is true of performance.

Once a sound has been played, it cannot be taken back. You cannot pretend that the previous sound never happened. You can only carry it with you and decide how the next sound will continue.

This became one of the starting points for a work that Shang-Ling and I began developing together, Irreversible Time.

From there, we brought the same question into more concrete experiments with materials.

We began transforming the recorder from a highly standardized plastic instrument into one made of ceramic. Once the recorder becomes ceramic, variations introduced by the hand, shrinkage during drying, the heat of the kiln, deformation during firing, and even cracks all become part of the instrument.

These traces do not only affect how the instrument produces sound. They also allow the object to carry within itself the process and time of its making—something that goes beyond sound itself.

An instrument originally defined by consistency and standardization begins to retain what happened during each individual process of making.

At the same time, we returned to early music that originally existed without modern bar lines, reconsidering those lines on the musical staff that have become so familiar that we barely notice them anymore.

Gradually, we realized that our two practices had been meeting at the same point all along:

Clay remembers the touch of a hand.

A score carries the traces of how history has changed it.

A sound carries the memory of the sound that came before it.

And the body moves forward while carrying what has already happened.

This is what we mean by Irreversible Trace.

It does not simply mean a trace that cannot be erased.

What interests us more is the word irreversible.

Sometimes the visible trace may fade or even disappear. But once something has happened, the conditions have already changed. The disappearance of a trace does not mean that we can truly return to the state before it happened.

So what interests us now is no longer simply ceramics or music, nor is it only about preserving traces.

What we want to ask is:

If some changes cannot be reversed, perhaps we do not always need to restore things to what they once were, nor do we need to pretend that we can return to an original state.

Perhaps the more important question is not how to go back, but:

Something has already happened. How do we carry it with us and continue from here?

Ching-Wei Lin

我跟顧上翎的創作，其實是從兩件很日常的事情開始； 她長時間跟陶土相處，我長時間跟樂器和樂譜相處。 後來我們發現，看起來完全不同的兩件事，其實一直在面對同一個問題：

一件事情發生以後，我們還能不能真正回到它發生以前？

上翎做陶的時候，很在意材料在過程中發生的變化。 手碰過它、壓過它，陶土會變形；乾燥會收縮，進到窯裡又可能產生裂痕。 這些東西一般可能被看成瑕疵，甚至失敗，但對她來說， 它們其實是在告訴我們：這個材料曾經經歷過什麼。

尤其經過燒製之後，很多事情已經不能回頭。 所以她不是一直想把材料修復成「什麼都沒有發生過」， 而是去面對另一個問題：

事情已經發生了，那接下來怎麼辦？

我在早期音樂裡碰到的問題，其實很像。

我們今天看到五線譜，會很自然地覺得音樂本來就是這個樣子。 但我研究比較早的音樂時，會發現很多音樂原來沒有我們今天熟悉的小節線， 甚至不是用現在的方式記譜。後來的人重新編輯這些音樂，加上小節線、重新分組。 其中一個原因當然是讓現代人比較容易閱讀，但這些編輯也可能重新安排我們對音樂的重音、 分組與律動感。

這也是我覺得很有意思的地方。

一條線看起來只是一條線，但當它被畫下去之後， 我們閱讀、演奏和理解音樂的方法，也可能跟著改變。

所以我開始覺得，五線譜不只是保存音樂的工具。 它自己也保存了歷史留下來的痕跡。

演奏也是。

一個聲音吹出去以後，是收不回來的。 你不能假裝前一個聲音沒有發生，只能帶著它，決定下一個聲音要怎麼繼續。

也就是從這裡，我跟上翎開始一起發展《Irreversible Time》。

後來，我們把這個問題帶到更具體的材料實驗裡。

我們把原本規格非常穩定的塑膠直笛轉成陶瓷。 當直笛變成陶瓷之後，手工製作的差異、乾燥時的收縮、火的溫度、 燒製造成的變形，甚至裂痕，都重新進到樂器裡面。 這些痕跡不只是影響樂器如何發出聲音，也讓物件承載了超越聲音本身的製作過程與時間。

原本追求規格一致的樂器，開始保留每一次製作所發生的事情。

另一邊，我們也從早期音樂原本沒有現代小節線的狀態出發， 重新去看五線譜上那些我們已經不再注意、甚至覺得理所當然的線。

慢慢地，我們發現，兩個人的工作其實一直在同一個地方碰面：

陶土記得手曾經碰過它。

樂譜記得歷史曾經改變過它。

聲音記得前一個聲音曾經發生。

而身體，也帶著曾經發生過的事情繼續往前。

因此，我們所說的 Irreversible Trace， 並不只是指一個「無法擦掉的痕跡」。 我們更在意的是 irreversible——不可逆。

因為痕跡有時候甚至可能已經看不見了， 但事情發生過之後，條件已經改變， 我們並不能因此真正回到事情發生以前。

所以我們現在關心的，已經不只是陶瓷或音樂，也不只是如何保存一個痕跡。

我們更想問：

如果有些改變無法逆轉，我們是不是不一定要把它修復成原來的樣子， 也不需要假裝自己可以回到原來的狀態？

也許真正值得思考的不是如何回去，而是——

事情已經發生了，我們如何帶著它，繼續往下走？

林靖偉